Maybe
by Callao
Summary: Pre-Rent. 10-yr old Mark moves to New York and meets Roger


  
Maybe  
by Callao  
DarkAngelGirlie@aol.com  
  
Feedback: Please?  
Rating: PG (Not really, that's okay though. A little fighting and naming calling, all childish, but nothing horrid)  
Summary: Pre-Rent. Mark moves to New York.  
Disclaimer: I don't own Mark or Roger, unfortunately, but I own everyone else,  
Author's Note: Hi! *waves* Just to let you know, I've never written anything other than Dark Angel stories and this came into my head a 2 in the morning and wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it. So, please, please, please review. I know this has been done before in lots of different ways, but I've never seen it done quite like mine, so... Tell me what you think. Think it's good, bad, that I should never attempt Rent-fic again? Just tell me nicely if it sucks. Now on with the story.  
  
* * * * *  
  
The boy sat quietly in the hard plastic office chair, swinging his legs nervously. He was sitting outside his new principal's office and had been for quite a while. It was his first day and, from the looks of the long empty halls, classes had started about a half hour before. He frowned and clutched the cold metal armrest. He hadn't wanted to make a bad impression and be late on his first day but there wasn't much he could do about it at the moment. So there he was, still sitting in the uncomfortable chair in the school office.   
  
"Mark Cohen?" He looked up to see the principal. She was a gentle looking woman in a conservative blue dress. He immediately cast his eyes downward, a blush tinting his pale cheeks.   
  
"Yes, ma'am," His voice was timid and quiet. The woman smiled warmly at him.   
  
"Welcome to Washington Elementary. I'm Mrs. Summers, the principal here," She led Mark out of the office and down to his classroom. "You'll be in Mr. Decker's fifth grade class, he's expecting you," They came to a wooden door marked '47' and Mrs. Summers knocked twice before opening the door. "If you ever need anything, my door is open, as is your guidance counselor Ms. Collins'. All right?"   
  
Before he could give an answer, she gave him a gentle push into the room and nodded to the teacher then shut the door. Mark was floored. He didn't want to be there and the teacher was giving him a strange look, probably because of the fact that the boy would move from his space by the door. Maybe, if he was quiet, he could slip out the door and the teacher wouldn't notice and...  
  
"Class, we have a new student today, Mark Cohen." Mark suppressed a sigh. Slipping out was a nice thought but he was stuck there now. And he was the center of attention, just like he hated to be. Twenty faces turned toward the boy awkwardly standing by the door. "Don't be shy. Come over here, Mark!   
  
A few snickers arose from the group of kids before him as the blushing boy moved slowly towards his teacher, his eyes cast towards the ground. "So, tell us a little about yourself, Mark."   
  
Mark didn't say anything, instead staring down at his now fumbling hands. The teacher tried again. "How old are you?"   
  
"T-ten."   
  
"Where did you live before you moved here?"   
  
"Scarsdale."   
  
"Alright. It doesn't seem that you want to talk about yourself," 'Thank you, Captain Obvious' Mark thought sarcastically, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. "I'll let you off the hook... For now. You can sit down in the second row, behind Nick."   
  
Mark moved to his seat, relieved to be out of the center of attention, and sat quietly. Everything that Mr. Decker was talking about, he'd learned before and it was starting to bore him. Three hours that seemed like three days later, lunch came. Mark sat awkwardly by himself as he ate, listening to the conversations of those around him. Nick, the boy he sat behind, was talking about him. Loudly. Basically, it wasn't talking as much as making fun of. The smaller boy just ignored him, hoping he'd shut up. At recess, he sat against the cafeteria building watching everyone else play through his dark sandy blond bangs.   
  
"Hey M-m-mark!" Mark grimaced and turned towards the voice. It was Nick and his three friends, four of the biggest reasons Mark was starting to hate New York. "Stand up M-m-mark!" He mocked the smaller boy. "I said stand up, stupid!"   
  
Mark stayed sitting, praying that recess would end at that second or a teacher would come over. Neither happened.   
  
"Fine. Robbie," Nick gestured to the tall red headed boy beside him. "Stand Markie up." Robbie pulled the boy up roughly. Mark stumbled but kept standing.   
  
The four boys formed a circle around Mark, pushing him and taunting him.   
  
"L-leave me alone!" Mark cried trying unsuccessfully to break from the group around him.   
  
"What was that, M-m-markie?" Nick mocked.   
  
"He said leave him alone," A voice cut in before Mark could answer. They turned to see a spiky blond haired boy standing behind Nick.   
  
"Go away, Roger, this doesn't involve you," Nick said angrily, pushing Mark to the ground. "Besides, we're just playin' with M-m-markie here."   
  
"Go play with your dolls, Nick. They'd be more fun for your pansy little self." The other boy shot back. Nick's jaw dropped a bit, as if he didn't expect the other to talk back, but he quickly regained his posture.   
  
"I don't have dolls," He spit out the name of the toy like it was the most disgusting thing in the world.   
  
Roger raised an eyebrow. "Is that so, little girl?"   
  
"I... Shut up, you stupid dork!" He finished lamely. The blond boy gave Nick a 'You're an idiot' look with a matching sarcastic laugh. The bully huffed and stomped away with his friends in tow, cursing Roger.   
  
"Just forget about Nick, he thinks he's cool," Roger offered his hand to the smaller boy, helping him up. "You okay?"   
  
"Yeah, thanks," The bell rang, announcing the end of recess. All the children walked slowly back to their classrooms, prolonging as long as they could.   
  
"I'm Roger Davis," The two walked in together and to class.   
  
"Mark Cohen."   
  
Mark gave a small grin as they sat, Roger ending up to his left. Maybe New York wasn't going to be so bad after all.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Like it? Hate it? Want to throw rotting vegetables? Tell me.  



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